| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Another Study of Woman by Honore de Balzac: hypocrisy and the delightful frankness of the eighteenth century--a
bastard system, symptomatic of an age in which nothing that grows up
is at all like the thing that has vanished, in which transition leads
nowhere, everything is a matter of degree; all the great figures
shrink into the background, and distinction is purely personal. I am
fully convinced that it is impossible for a woman, even if she were
born close to a throne, to acquire before the age of five-and-twenty
the encyclopaedic knowledge of trifles, the practice of manoeuvring,
the important small things, the musical tones and harmony of coloring,
the angelic bedevilments and innocent cunning, the speech and the
silence, the seriousness and the banter, the wit and the obtuseness,
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Frankenstein by Mary Shelley: Elizabeth, my love, you must supply my place to my younger children.
Alas! I regret that I am taken from you; and, happy and beloved
as I have been, is it not hard to quit you all? But these are not
thoughts befitting me; I will endeavour to resign myself cheerfully
to death and will indulge a hope of meeting you in another world."
She died calmly, and her countenance expressed affection even in death.
I need not describe the feelings of those whose dearest ties are rent
by that most irreparable evil, the void that presents itself to the soul,
and the despair that is exhibited on the countenance. It is so long
before the mind can persuade itself that she whom we saw every day
and whose very existence appeared a part of our own can have departed
Frankenstein |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Call of the Canyon by Zane Grey: with us until he built his cabin up West Fork. He an' Flo have run together
a good deal, an' naturally he told her about you. So you see you're not a
stranger. An' we want you to feel you're with friends."
"I thank you, Mrs. Hutter," replied Carley, feelingly. "I never could thank
you enough for being good to Glenn. I did not know he was so--so sick. At
first he wrote but seldom,"
"Reckon he never wrote you or told you what he did in the war," declared
Mrs. Hutter.
"Indeed he never did!"
"Well, I'll tell you some day. For Tom found out all about him. Got some of
it from a soldier who came to Flagstaff for lung trouble. He'd been in the
The Call of the Canyon |
